


31 Days of Fanfic - Dragon Age Edition

by ramblingAnthropologist



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingAnthropologist/pseuds/ramblingAnthropologist
Summary: I don't even know what to tag this as without being a major pain in the ass so I'm just gonna put the fandoms in.This is a collection of my August 31 Days of Fanfic prompts. I wrote mainly for Dragon Age, but a few others squeaked through. I'll only put the Dragon Age ones here, so it won't get confusing.





	1. Day 1 - Pure Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I can put my original summary on here but here goes!
> 
> \---  
> Prompt: Pure fluff  
> Pairing: Miris Tabris x Zevran Arainai  
> Summary: Someone has to take Archdemon blood to the other Wardens once the Blight it over. Miris reluctantly takes up the job, his favorite assassin coming along for the ride. However, sometimes freak Ferelden storms sneak up on people, and the best way to ride them out to share some body warmth.

“Fuck.”

“A fine suggestion, but perhaps not at this temperature.”

Miris felt his teeth chatter as he peered out into the landscape one last time. It did him no good, for all he saw was snow and darkness. At least a half foot of snow lay on the ground, and with more to come walking was out of the question for the night.

The storm was one of Ferelden’s freak weather patterns, having rolled in seemingly out of nowhere while they had been on the road towards Antiva. When Zevran had suggested the move, he had expected to encounter much better weather. Perhaps it was some god or another reminding him Ferelden would always be with him, even if it was only there in frost bite.

“Perhaps you should come inside. It’s warmer here.”

They were camped out in a cave they had been lucky enough to find after scrambling around, snow blind. At one point, it had housed some large animal based on the leftover bones and scratches in the rocks. If they were lucky, it wouldn’t return until they were long gone.

Zevran had managed to start a fire with some of the remains within the cave. It was a small one, but provided enough warmth to keep them from freezing. Miris was more than happy to remove himself from the frigid entrance and sit in front of it, holding out his stiff hands to warm them while the wind howled outside. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

“Fucking storm came out of the ass crack of nowhere. I think I have snow in my eye patch.” That, or he was bleeding to death from the wind cutting him open. Something was definitely dripping down his face, and with how cold he was it was impossible to tell what. Since it wasn’t on his good side, there was no way to look to see either.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone. Across from him, the assassin chuckled and reached over to remove the scrap of cloth. More cold liquid trailed down Miris’ face, but as it dripped off his chin he could see it was clear.

“It looks to be water, unless Wardens bleed clear.” Zevran placed the patch by the fire, along with some of their other sodden clothes, to dry. “I may not know the snow as well as you, but it would be wiser to keep it off for the time being.”

Well, that was one less tragedy in the world. Miris still breathed a sigh of relief as he settled in against one of the walls of the cave, closing his eye to rest it. The Blight had given him enough head injuries to last a lifetime and then some. He’d be content with bleeding his guts out in various other gruesome ways, but maybe not too soon.

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

From the sound of things, Zevran was shifting around the cave, maybe trying to find the most comfortable spot among the rocks and bones. He stopped some distance away from the Warden if his ears still worked – which he was pretty sure they did. The tips might’ve been frozen, but they functioned.

There was a long, somewhat uncomfortable pause before the response. “You would not last a day alone in Antiva. A pretty face like yours? No chance at all.”

Miris snorted in response. “Right, of course. How could I forget?”

Denerim had been such a lovely place, after all, especially when the Archdemon was finished with it. There was only a handful of months between then and where he sat, and the only proof of it was the bag he kept close. Somehow, the damn fiend’s blood refused to freeze, even in those ridiculously small glass bottles the Wardens insisted were standard protocol to keep them in. He was certain it was for effect, but who was he to question the shem up in the Anderfels?

Still, he frowned. “Seriously, Zev. I know it’s dangerous for you in Antiva. You could’ve stayed back at Vigil’s Peak with the squirt.”

More motion, and then warmth settled in against his side. Zevran had found his comfortable spot, and it was apparently pressed up against Miris’ ribs. Heat spread across his face as an arm snaked around his back and pulled him close, bringing him into the sharp smell of leather.

“And miss you experiencing Antiva City for the first time? I would face a thousand snow storms to see that.”

Another pause, and no doubt he was smiling - if only Miris had the fucks given to open his eye. “Well, perhaps not a thousand. I do not like the cold.”

That earned him a bark of laughter from the Warden who snuggled in a little closer, maybe for more than just the excuse of sharing body heat in the cold night to come. He was coming to love the smell of leather, along with the man who came with it.

“No, really? I had no idea since you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Not all of us are as built as you, my Warden.” Maybe it was his imagination, but Miris felt as though Zevran might have squeezed his bicep. “We need protection from the cold.”

That he was more than happy to provide as the night wore on. After all, it would hardly do to have his travel guide and translator freeze to death because he didn’t feel like sharing the warmth. Explaining it to his friends back home would’ve been a nightmare worse than the Archdemon alone, never mind the fact he’d have to do something with the body.

“You’re lucky you’re so good looking, Zev.”

“Ah, yes. It is quite the curse.” Lips pressed against his cheek, warm and just a touch cracked from the long journey. There was no heat behind them, though. They ran the risk of breaking off certain appendages the Warden held dear in that weather, after all.

So they settled in for the long night, the small fire in front of them and the walls of the cave protecting them from the howling wind and blinding snow. In the morning, they would set out once more for Antiva and the Warden base to deliver Miris’ priceless treasure. Until then, they had hard stone and bones to call home.

And, if they were lucky, no visits from a bear.


	2. Day 2 - Rarepair  (Warden x Sten)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Cherche Mahariel x Sten  
> Setting: That Modern Dragon Age AU  
> Summary: Long distance relationships are hard. Thankfully, modern technology helps to bridge the gap. Though Cherche and Sten are apart, his little notes are sometimes all she needs to get through the days until they’re together again.  
> 

“I swear by Elgar'nan’s balls if I correct their aim one more time, I’m using them for target practice.”

Every bone in Cherche’s body ached as she slammed face first onto her bed. Somewhere behind her, Dog was whining and wagging his stumpy tail. He had followed her up from the practice yard, where no doubt four full grown men were still laying on the ground dazed and bruised.

“Why did I agree to help him out with training them?” She rolled onto her face. “Should’ve stayed in Par Vollen.”

It was warmer there, at least. However, she was a sucker for her son, especially when he sent her gif-filled messages pleading for her help. The Obi Wan Kenobi joke had sealed it for her, and now she regretted it with every step she took.

Damn her love for that brat.

“Dog, let’s run away before they know we’re gone.” Cherche reached down to pet the massive dog on his head and ran her hand along his soft fur. He barked his assent and started for the door, but she couldn’t join him. Her legs weren’t going to cooperate and instead begged her for sleep. “Ok… maybe after a nap.”

That required taking off her armor. Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet and started for the armor stand, stripping as she went. By the time she got there, most of it was on the floor and all she had to show for it was the annoyingly heaven warden breastplate. That got chucked on the stand; the rest she’d pick up later.

Before she could head back to bed, the pile of her clothes vibrated. Her back muscles protested, but she bent down to sort through them in order to find her pocket. Inside, her phone screen showed she had a new text message.

_From: Kadan_

_How was your day?_

A brief smile flitted across Cherche’s face as she sat down on her bed, phone in hand. Her lock screen was the two of them together just after Denerim, dressed for the fight that was to come. Maybe it wasn’t the most typical couple’s photo, but it wasn’t like they were exactly normal either.

“He should be asleep by now, it’s after 3 there.”

_Fine; go to bed, Sten. You’re no good to anyone tired._

Putting her phone aside, she settled into her own bed to catch a few hours of sleep before someone else needed her to save the world. As long as the second coming of the Archdemon didn’t arrive during her rest, she would be fine.

Of course, knowing her luck, it would happen.

—

“How about you fucking bite me, Eamon?”

Cherche wasn’t known for holding her temper, except when she brandished it like a club to beat somebody over the head. The current Arl of Redcliffe was definitely cruising for a bruising that morning, and he hadn’t even had breakfast.

Eamon always had this thing where his lip curled when he spoke with her. She didn’t know why – maybe it was because she was an elf, Dalish, or the mother of his soon to be nephew in law. The possibilities were as endless as the ways to kill him, she just had to settle on one.

“I merely suggested - “

“No, you pretty much ordered me to do your dirty work.” She turned on her heel, fire brimming. “Get fucked, shem. You want to talk to Ali, put your name to it.”

It was just like him to try and maneuver from the shadows. This time it was over Alistair’s relationship with her son; the time before, over who would stand at the king’s side as adviser. Every time, he tried to grab more power for himself, or push things into a neat little package.

As long as she drew breath, it wasn’t going to fucking happen.

Still fuming, Cherche stopped outside the front door of the Arl’s estate. Her pocket had started to vibrate with news of a new message. Since she was technically on Warden work, that meant it could be important. At any rate, it was better than staring at his wrinkly old ass.

_From: Kadan_

_The quickest way to a man’s heart is between his ribs with a properly applied thrusting technique._

_Miss you. <3_

“He always was a charmer.” Cherche allowed a slight chuckle to grace her lips as she stared down at her screen. Sten did like his emojis, particularly the hearts. She couldn’t wait to show him the cookie one she had found, but that would involve some work. Until then, he could be content with his hearts and smily faces.

_You can get them just as well with an arrow, you know._

_Miss you too, Skype tomorrow?_

“Cherche, could we please speak for a moment?”

Teagan’s voice drew her attention. He was heading to meet her,  probably to smooth things over and to prevent at least one homicide on the premisis. Her smile turned to a scowl as she returned her phone into her pocket and watched him arrive.

She might’ve liked him, but damn if he didn’t get on her nerves some days.  Oh well, she had a Skype date to look forward to anyway.

—

“Is that a new bruise?”

“A recruit didn’t know his ass from his elbow. I’m fine, vhenan.”

The connection was crap thanks to the distance between Par Vollen and Amaranthine, but it held up well enough. She couldn’t see the sweat dripping down Sten’s brow, but she could imagine it just the same.

“If you cannot help them, they are a lost cause.”

Cherche snorted as she leaned back against the headrest of her bed, laptop on her lap. “Well, I knew that taking the job, doesn’t mean I can’t have fun doing it.”

Sten’s lips twitched briefly. That was as good as a smile coming from him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to smile, just that it wasn’t a cultural norm for him. She saw no reason to push him on it, especially since there were plenty of other ways to indulge her urges – usually with rope and a few good knots – with him.

“When will you be returning to Par Vollen, kadan?” He looked briefly behind him as someone asked him a question – something about if he would be returning to training. He answered summarily before returning. “It is dull without you.”

Cherche allowed another smile to pass her lips as she kept her laptop steady. “Par Vollen, boring? How did you survive all those years without me?”

“Without a perpetual stiffness in my neck, kadan.” There was a long pause, and for a moment she thought the webcam had froze. However, she could see Sten breathing, weighing out his options. “Among other places.”

The Arishok was right, she was corrupting him.

A quick bark of laughter rang out in the small room as Cherche snickered. “Can’t help you with that while I’m here, Sten.”

“That much is obvious.” Maybe it was the light, but she could have sworn he looked a little red around the  tips of his ears. “You still haven’t answered my question about your return.”

Always so pushy. Cherche rolled her eyes as she glanced down at the screen of her phone. Earlier that day, she and the other senior Wardens had finally decided on a date for the recruits to take their joining. A cartoonish griffin marked the day, with ‘karaoke’ penciled in the day after. By her estimation, at least one was going to make it and that was enough for a party in her book.

They just had to get through the twitching first. They were always so twitchy.

“Joining’s next week, vhenan. Once the survivors settle in and we’re pretty sure they’re not going to desert, I can come back.”

“I will meet you at the dock when you arrive.” The voices in the background were growing – someone needed Sten now, probably to deal with some issue. He frowned briefly, before his neutral expression returned. “Time to go.”

Cherche smiled briefly as she pressed her hand to the screen. “Text you later, Sten.”

He nodded, and his hand lined up with hers ever so briefly. Then he was gone, and she was left with the Skype home screen. Sighing, she closed the lid of her laptop and put it aside. There was work to be done, after all. Joinings didn’t prepare themselves.

Before she left the room, though, her pocket vibrated once more.

_From: Kadan_

_< 3_

“Sappy nerd.” And yet she smiled as her fingers slid across the screen in response. It sent long before she returned to deal with the rest of the recruits, a virtual letter to her beloved far away in the sands of Par Vollen.

_Nerd._

_< 3_


	3. Day 3 - Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, family is the people you run screaming into final battle with. Avery Hawke learned that one the fun way.

Somehow, they had found a way to make Kirkwall even worse. That had to be a record.

Avery’s eyes burned from the smoke drifting down from what at one point had been the Chantry in Hightown. Now, it was a bunch of rocks that had been blasted a good couple stories in the air. Honestly, it did wonders for the aesthetic, but she could have down without the burning rubble and Templars trying to kill anything wearing a robe.

“Really stepped in it this time, huh?”

Her armor was spattered with blood, and it dripped from her sword and shield even as she shook them off. Somewhere in the city, Meredith was out of control and needing a good smack to the face. It just so happened she had her punching fist in.

“Hawke, we’ll keep things steady here.” Orsino had a cut above his eye that was dripping blood down his face, but he still held his hand. The last hour had been chasing after newly minted apostates, keeping them from becoming abominations. “Go stop her.”

She turned to him, grinning the best she could with flagging energy. “Can do. If I see any other mages, I’ll send them this way.”

If there were any. The rate Meredith and her goon squad were going, they might have had Kirkwall’s entire mage population huddled in the courtyard, far from Templar swords. The thought made her stomach turn, but she resisted the urge to heave off to the side. It wouldn’t have done any good.

Everything hurt from the fighting just to get that far. She was pretty sure one of her ribs were broken, and a cut on her leg wouldn’t stop bleeding. Avery maybe had a good few blasts left in her before someone else had to take over.

“Fine mess this is.” She took a deep breath, shaking her sword off one more time. “Well, shit’s done. Can’t take it back.”

No doubt her mother in the void would lambaste her for chalking up the death of the Grand Cleric and her inner circle as ‘shit’s done.’ It wasn’t like she was sad the old bitch was dead – if anyone had had it coming, it was Elthina – but it did create a mild power vacuum that Meredith had slid into ever so easily. Bluntly, it was a headache she didn’t need.

Sighing, Avery rotated her shoulder and looked around to try and find the rest of her friends. At last check, they had all stuck with her, even Aveline, when she had pulled Anders off his box of self loathing and attempted suicide by reaver. No doubt they were still alive, but if they were in any condition to fight was another story.

“Hawke.”

Varric’s deep voice drew her attention. She turned, expecting to find the dwarf at her side, crossbow and a well-timed quip at the ready. Instead, he was standing among the rest of their friends, grinning like he had just won the round of Wicked Grace.

Her jaw dropped as she surveyed the crowd. Every single one of them had smeared a stripe of red paint across their nose in a familiar swipe. It had been recent, the paint was still wet and dripping down Merrill’s cheek in one area, and it was kind of messy.

But it was exactly the way her father had taught her so long ago, back when he had trained her how to handle her dog.

“Andraste’s tits, I hope that isn’t kaddis or Chewy is going to be so confused.” The smoke was making her eyes water, so she wiped them away. Isabela was laughing – maybe with her, maybe at her – as she reached over to nudge Fenris in the side.

“Pay up, I told you she’d cry.”

Varric was still grinning as he bridged the gap between them and clapped Avery on the shoulder. “Just so you know who’s on our team, Hawke.”

“Yes, because it’s so confusing with everyone trying to run a sword through us.” She beamed, wiping away more tears with her good hand. “You’re all so fucking stupid and I hate you.”

And yet, Avery swore she felt a little lighter as she looked at them. This band of weirdos, odd as they were, were hers at least until everything settled down. If they managed to save the city – or died horribly in the process – at least it was as a weird little family.

Her family.

“Hawke, you don’t have much time left.” Orsino was looking towards the gate as fires burned towards Lowtown. “You better get going.”

Right, the whole stopping Meredith thing. Almost forgot that in the city burning down to the ground with Templars on the loose thing. Her bad.

Avery nodded as she turned back to her group, sword in hand. “Well, you heard the man. Come on, Hawke family, let’s go kick some ass.”

And they did, heading out together. One day, it would be words on a page, or songs sung in some grimy tavern thousands of miles away. Right then, it was real, it smelled like shit, and it was way too hot. The stories never mentioned that part.

Hopefully, they would mention how cool she looked when she shoved her sword straight through Meredith’s goddamn head.


	4. Day 4 - Something you don't ship (Adaar x Dorian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gossip’s been getting juicy in Skyhold as rumors fly of secret affairs between key agents. Inquisitor Adaar’s heart can’t take much more of this. However, what he thinks is affection may just be a desire for a good game. Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be adorably dense.

“Did you see the way they looked at each other in the garden?”

“It was positively scandalous. I'd dare wager the Commander fancies him.”

The damn Orlesians were at it again that morning as Kaaras entered the hall, ducking just in time to avoid his horns colliding with the top of the door frame. Despite polite requests to go the fuck home, there they were, chatting away like they owned the place.

Maybe he should've considered a less polite request with more expletives.

“We've all heard the rumors about Ser Pavus. He's probably stringing the poor Commander along. Such a dear, he has no idea what he's in for.”

Someone waved their fan in front of their face as the rest giggled like they were reading through the latest edition of _The Randy Dowager Quarterly._ That's what someone's life was to them, nothing better than tawdry entertainment.

It would've made him sick if his stomach wasn't so busy sinking into his shoes.

Kaaras tried to ignore the rumors, of course. Often times he was so busy being pulled in every direction that he didn't have the time to really think on them. This one followed him like a bad habit, smacking him in the face whenever he got the chance to breathe.

They weren't... were they?

Truly, he had never paid attention. It was no surprise that his so-called Commander was one of his least favorite people in the Inquisition. To put it bluntly, he hated the mother fucker with everything he had in him. It seemed impossible that someone he was so fond of could get along with such a cancerous sore.

And yet, when he entered the garden, there they were. Cullen and Dorian sat across from each other, the chess pieces set out in front of them. From the overhead view, the mage was losing rather badly with not much hope left for victory.

“Are you making your move or forfeiting then?” The commander was smiling, the scar over his lip stretching with the effort. With the fur on his cloak and his puffed up demeanor, he quite resembled the cat that begged outside the kitchen for scraps, only he wasn't nearly as cute or useful.

Dorian chuckled, and the sound made Kaaras weak in the knees as he clung to a wall for support. He considered the board for a few moments, before toying with one of the pieces in front of him, not quite moving it all the way.

“I'm thinking, Commander.”

“You said that the last time I beat you.” When Cullen chuckled, it had the opposite effect. “Winner buys the next round?”

Behind the wall, Kaaras bit his lip hard and slumped. They had progressed to drinks. What else had he missed in his attempts to close up the massive hole in the sky? At this rate, he'd be fixing a much more dire crack in his heart. However, he never made a sound, and instead shifted away from the game. Somewhere, someone probably needed him to do some task.

He never saw how the game ended, but the aftermath was written all over Dorian's face later. The mage was deep in thought, so much so that he bumped into his secret admirer. Their difference in size meant nobody went flying, but the sudden contact still made the qunari's heart race.

“Oh, forgive me. A certain queen keeps tormenting me.” A smile slid across Dorian's lips as he made himself proper. “Is something the matter, Inquisitor? You look rather depressed.”

Kaaras had never been good at keeping his feelings to himself. He was no Jackel, nor could he hide them with a smirk and a quip like Akri. No doubt he looked like shit, bouncing about from room to room in the main building to try and keep himself busy.

“There's a lot on my mind.” It was harder to put a smile on his face, and it pulled. “Er, how's the research going?”

It was almost painful, watching the life explode into the mage's eyes. While good breeding a lot of social training helped with most things, deep down Dorian was just as big a nerd as his brother when it came to magic. It was charming, in its own weird way, but right then he wished he would've said nothing at all.

“Glad you asked, I think I found something that might help us out.” Dorian was turning on his heel, heading towards the library. He only stopped upon realizing he was alone, and then turned back towards the qunari. “Are you coming?”

Maybe in his dreams.

Still, Kaaras couldn't help but follow along as they left the main hall to travel towards the library. Here, without the eyes of the great hall among them, it felt easier to breathe. It wasn't perfect, but it helped smooth things out.

“I thought of it during my chess match with the Commander, actually. The way he waves those pieces around got me thinking.”

The crack in his heard was audible, but Kaaras kept moving. He kept his eyes on the approaching door; once, a relative had told him it was the easiest way to hold back tears. Worst came to worst, he could blame it on some allergy.

“Oh, I didn't realize you two were so close.” He attempted the friendliest tone he could, cursing when his voice wavered somewhere near his damned head tone. There was soon a dent in his tongue as he waited for the response, bracing.

Honestly, Kaaras hadn't know what to expect from the remark. Maybe he could've seen Dorian's face turning blotchy, or he would turn away. He could have even changed the subject, showing for a brief moment a rare flustered sign. All of them would've killed him, but they would have been understandable given the subject matter.

Instead, he got laughter.

Dorian was laughing – not at him, it didn't seem anyway. The wonderful sound filled the room for a brief moment, leaving a tingling sensation down the qunari's spine when it left all too soon. At least it left a smile on the mage's face as he allowed one last chuckle.

“Hardly, it's just he's the only one I can play chess with since a certain someone refuses to learn human rules.”

This was accompanied by a light nudge to the side that sent Kaaras' heart straight into his nose so fast his head spun. Suddenly, even with Red Templars and magisters from the dawn of time about, the world didn't seem so bad.

Still, there was some sass required for that remark, and he found it a little easier to talk. “It's not my fault you've decided to do odd things with the keepers.”

“Oh don't start that again, last time I got into that argument it lasted an hour and I'd gone hoarse.” Dorian chuckled again. “We're getting a bit off track though. There's a certain book I need to show you before anyone else gets their hands on it.”

Kaaras felt a hand on his back guiding him along as the mage continued chatting. Words were lost on him in that moment as he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Maybe he was smiling, maybe he was red. Either way, the afternoon had just gotten a lot better.

If only all rumors turned out that way.

 


	5. Day 7 - The bad thing no one talks about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Archdemon strikes in dreams, Miris is left in the dark. However, he’s not as alone as he thought he was, even if together means a foul stew. 
> 
> (Starring OC Wardens Miris Tabris, Cahel Mahariel, and Cherche Mahariel. Cherche Mahariel belongs to my good buddy reallyfuckinggay.)

Amazingly, the whole “getting eaten alive by a roaring demon dragon” thing wasn't getting old yet.

Miris rocketed up from his bedroll, sweat pouring down his face as he peered into the darkness, hands clutching at his thin blanket. His side ached, but the worst was the rolling feeling in his stomach that was too familiar now. Without hesitation, he sprinted out of the tent, hand over his mouth.

Bile still hit the ground eventually as he leaned over near a bush, entire body shaking. A few shaky gasps did nothing to quell his nerves as the sounds of the night filtered into his ears. Behind him, the campfire was crackling, and off to the side Zevran no doubt pretended to be asleep for his benefit. Or, maybe he was – it was hard to tell these days.

“Maker's ass, that one felt real.” He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, sighing. It was still too hard to see, which by his feeble vision meant it was night time. Had he been able to view it better, the night sky could've been pleasant. Instead, he just focused on not stepping in his own sick as he edged towards the fire. Luckily, Stumpy had edged out of the tent not long after he had, and the dog's large head bumped up against his side to guide him towards his destination.

He was a good dog, and it was unfortunate he had woken up too.

It took him a second to realize he wasn't alone, though. There were others sitting around the fire, talking in low tones as one of them stirred the pot set atop the flames. The smell might have made his stomach turn, but he inched closer.

“Rough night?”

Cahel was the one stirring the pot, hair loose and hanging in his face. He gave a little wave as he sat down, crossing his ankles as Tamlen snoozed next to him. Nearby, Dog lounged with Cherche, who was in the midst of checking her bow for defects from the last battle. She gave him a nod, but not much else.

“Uh, yeah.” He nodded to Alistair, also sleep tousled and gripping onto the log to keep from falling into the flames. “What, did all of us have the same nightmare?”

Thanks to the closeness of the fire, Miris could see the youngest of their party still had a green tinge to his cheeks. His companions might not have shown it, but the deep circles under their eyes hinted as to how their sleep had been.

Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't heard it.

“At least you didn't scream. Ali screamed this time.” Cherche was smirking as she poked the warrior in the side. “Could've woken up the dead.”

Alistair's complexion turned ruddy as he swatted her hand away. “It's not like I meant to do it! How you manage not to when it's biting you, I have no idea! At least I didn't throw up!”

He turned, frowning towards Cahel, “Sorry, no offense.”

“Hey, I puked. None taken.” The rogue shrugged his shoulders as he kept stirring. “Anyway, it's nearly ready. Anyone with a foul stomach come get some.”

The idea of food made Miris want to throw up again, but he chanced edging closer to the fire in order to retrieve a bowl. At first sniff, his stomach churned, but no bile threatened its way to the surface. Still didn't look too good to him as he sat back down, Stumpy making way.

It... was food, he supposed, as he poked it with his spoon. There was definitely something medicinal in it as he gave it a sniff to make sure the kid wasn't fucking with him. Since the rest of group was eating it, that chance decreased somewhat.

“If this kills me, I'm coming back as a ghoul and stabbing you in the ass.” He had better insults when he was awake, but Miris wasn't in the mood to think of better. Instead, he shrugged his sore shoulders and took a mouthful, eye widening. It was medicinal alright, almost overpoweringly so.

That joke about dying from it might actually come true.

Cherche snorted as she swallowed down another mouthful – she wasn't much help, her stomach was silverite. “Old clan recipe. It's a great hangover cure.”

“Plus we found it helps with the Archdemon Stomach.” Cahel paused as he held out a spoonful to Tamlen, who wisely avoided it with a sniff. “That's what we call it, by the way. Archdemon Stomach.”

That name had the trio all over it. Miris fought an eye roll as he swallowed down another spoonful. It might not have tasted too good, but his stomach wasn't trying to throw it back at him. In fact, it almost felt like it was settling down a little.

Alistair was still pouting over Cherche, but even he seemed to be in a better mood. “Surprised to see you out here, Tabris. For a while it seemed like you weren't affected by it.”

From the sound of things, somebody had lost a bet. However, Miris had no desire to let them know the truth. More than a few nights he had stared up at the ceiling of his tent, pillow soaked with sweat as he tried not to bite his tongue from choking back his own screams. Maybe it had been fear or shame, he didn't know.

It was good to know it wasn't just him, though.

“It just takes the Archdemon longer to get through his thick head.” Cahel's snickering carried over the popping of the flames. The brat was asking for it in the morning, but for the moment he was safe. If he had had even half the same dream, he was allowed one.

Besides, Cherche had him covered, and he watched her smirk as she reached across to cuff her clan mate across the back of the head. “Can't be any thicker than yours, da'len.”

That sent up another round of howls, and there was some barks of laughter to follow it, as the four sat around the flames trying to chase away the nightmares that had brought them there. In the morning, they'd pretend like it had never happened and they had all just so happened to have problems sleeping.

No doubt another night would come where they would seek the flames and the pot of foul smelling goop to chase away the last vestiges of the Archdemon's grip upon them. At least Miris could be comforted by the fact he wasn't alone in his nightmares.

Sometimes, it was just easier to get through misery if there were other people sharing in it.

 


End file.
